ReOccurring Dreams, or, Strawberries
by demondreaming
Summary: "...and I have re-occurring dreams I REALLY can't tell you about." Cade. PWP. Rated M for a very good reason.


**Disclaimer: I should probably own Victorious.**

Her skin tastes like strawberries. It makes my mouth water, and I drag my tongue over her throbbing pulse, the taste pounding into me. I take the soft skin between my teeth, nipping lightly, feeling her pulse race even faster against my lips, a muted gasp vibrating against them. I bite into her, wanting that taste to fill my mouth, increasing the pressure until her fingers twitch against my waist, until her hips push into me. I smooth the flushed, bruised skin with my tongue, and she's so sweet, so soft. She's addictive.

"Jade..." Her voice is soft, hoarse, threaded through with lust, with want, and it's filled with unfinished pleas, _don't stop, please hurry, I want you, I need you_. I can taste the words on her lips when I kiss them, hear them whispered in her hot, exhaled breath, feathering my cheek. She speaks them with her tongue, writhing against my own, her fingertips trembling their way down my back, stroking along my spine, like she's discovering my anatomy with her fingers, like she's piecing together my skeleton by touch, and I'm piecing hers together with taste.

It's permanent afternoon where we are. It's always afternoon with her. It lights up her skin, makes her glow, like she's taking the sun into her, like she's a flower that faces the light. She was made for the spotlight; she shines in it. But I've always enjoyed her private performances more. I'm the director, and I'm fascinated at the way I can make her act. How I can make her breath hitch, how I can make her lips flush, how I can make her limbs tremble, and her heart race, all with my direction.

Her hair's lit bright red by the golden light, splashed out over my pillow in a violent end, strands dripping over her neck, and I thread my fingers through them, staining them, and I whisper into her lips about how her hair is like rubies, like velvet, but all my mind thinks is _blood blood blood_. Spilling over my hand, sticking to my lips, and it's beautiful. I've always had a taste for the macabre; blood, bones, skin, life, all wrapped up to make Cat. To make this girl whose threads I pick apart, this girl who I separate into her parts. The taste of her blood, welling from nipped skin, the ridges of her bones, heaving under my hand, the soft, taut feel of her skin. The life in every gasped breath, in every soft moan.

When I'm with her, it's like everything's enhanced, like every heartbeat takes an eternity, every moment stretches out until I can't remember a time when I wasn't here with her, when I couldn't taste her on my lips. She's everything I need; her body's the only art I want, her voice, her gasps the only music I require, her taste, her smell the only food I need. It fills me more than real food ever has, satisfies me more, but it still leaves me hungering. My starved eyes trace over her, over the curves of her body, slight, delicate. She'd be so easy to break, so easy to ruin. She's a masterpiece that I'm standing before, pondering whether to defile it.

I let my fingers walk their way down between her breasts, pink nipples punctuating the swells of flesh. I tiptoe my fingers down until I feel her muscles twitch, until goosebumps prickle my hand, and her stomach heaves against me in a muted gasp. It's always afternoon here; I have all the time in the world, to sculpt her with my fingers, to shape her into the statue I want. I drag my fingers back up slowly, nails scraping over the golden flesh, using only an index finger to trace over her collarbone. I follow with my lips on it's opposite, dampening the taut skin, teeth scraping the hard ridge of bone underneath. Cat's hands flutter like nervous butterflies over my own bare skin, tinged white by the light. White skin, red hair. Bone and blood. This is visceral, this is close, it flows through my veins and threads through my muscles. Her name is whispered in every cell, susurrating through my brain, _Cat Cat Cat_. She overwhelms every sense I have, not least of all common. She injects herself in my arteries and gets me high, addles my brain. She makes everything warped and unreal. She's the only thing in focus, the only thing not blurred and unrecognisable. Just her, me and the white sheets, rumpled and bunched from Cat's writhing.

I leave her collarbone, the imprint of my teeth stamped in her skin, marking her, moving my lips instead to hers, Cat's hooded chocolate eyes flickering shut, dark lashes matted. Her lips are so soft, melding to mine so well, and she stiffens as I flick a thumb over her nipple, breaking the kiss to sob a breath. She's an instrument I'm tuning, that I'm twisting and turning to get the right notes out of. And she's almost ready for her symphony.

I tease the hard nub, sliding down her body to capture the other with my mouth, drawing hot, wet circles with my tongue, my name exiting Cat's mouth, sliced through her chattering teeth. She whimpers when I take it between my teeth, tugging, her hips pushing up into me like I'm yanking a string with every nip. Her thigh presses up between my legs, shifting and trembling, and I can't stop my hips from grinding against it, just slightly. Just enough to make me release her nipple, panting a short breath over the wet flesh, and shut my eyes tight at the pang of pleasure. Cat keeps her thigh there, keeps it sliding against me, her eyes dark, flicking over my face, pools of coffee I could get burnt in. She's scorching my skin as it is, flaying me back to my core, stripping everything away from me until I'm just raw nerves, twitching at her touch. I cover myself in her instead.

I plant my lips between her breasts, attempting to still my hips, hand leaving her breast to trail down over her shivering stomach, over the smooth, tan skin, the jerking muscles. My fingers stutter to a stop just before they reach her, hand flat on her stomach, feeling it rise and fall unevenly. And I'm almost, _almost_ touching her, feeling where her skin starts to change, fingertips hot and wet. Cat's hands grip me tightly, so tight I can feel her bones talking to mine, pressing hard against my muscles like they want to push through, rub together, wrap around each other and join, so that we're permanently together, forever entangled. "Please? Please Jade, please?" Cat whimpers as I acquiesce, eyes shutting tight, throat working as she swallows hard, fingers bruising my arms.

She's so wet, so perfectly tuned. I find her clit, strumming a few soft notes, and she reacts perfectly, bucking against me, a low moan escaping her, almost of relief, like something held deep down and waiting for me to free it. To pry it out from where it slept under her ribcage; a moth fluttering around the candle of her heart. I work my fingers, playing a scale over her as Cat jerks and gasps, her hips shameless in their need for more friction. But this was only the warm up. I'm a singer.

My fingers leave her, lips following the path they took on their way down. I can taste the breath shivering in her muscles, feel the suspense held in them, see the way her blood follows me down, chasing my tongue, skin flushing in my wake. I slip down her body, skin sliding against skin, and it makes that soft, sinuous whisper that buzzes in my ears and enhances the feeling. Makes my head pound, overruled by my heart. My hands splay themselves on her inner thighs, flat, pushing them apart while Cat makes shaky, audible breaths, fingers moving to clench in the sheets, the same white as my skin. I wonder if it feels the same, if she just wants something to lose herself in, something to hold so tight she can't feel it anymore, so that she can't tell it apart from her. My lips touch gently at the bottom of her stomach, skin starting to change and heat up, the scent of her dizzying me. The tip of my tongue tentatively tastes her; strawberries, she always tastes like strawberries to me. My tongue flicks over her clit harder, Cat's thighs jumping under my hands. I can feel the thick arteries there, pulsing against my hand, begging _more, more_. I'm rushing through her veins, diffusing in her lungs, and with every breath, every exhale, my name comes out, soft, pleading, vulnerable, growing more and more desperate as I change the beat, up the tempo. I'm the conductor, and I'm commanding her symphony as it builds to the crescendo.

I slow my tongue, sucking lightly instead; this performance isn't anywhere near over. Cat's breath slows a little, a hand moving to tangle in my hair, as if to keep me there, as if to just hold on, and remind herself that I'm there, that it's me, that it's real. Her fingers are featherlight, barely there, tickling the swept locks of hair that spill over her stomach, and I glance up at her, a hand creeping off her thigh. Cat's lower lip is wedged between her teeth, chest heaving, and I watch her face as I bring a finger to stroke over her, to ease it's way into her hot, velvet flesh. She lets out a muffled moan, eyebrows tugging down as her back arches off the bed, hand slipping out of my hair, moving to clench the sheets once again. I drag my eyes away from her again, tongue resuming it's teasing pattern, finger stroking inside her. She's so wet, so addictive. I add another finger, curling them against her tight walls, Cat letting out a loud moan, sobbing my name. "Mmph, _Jade_." I take my cue, fingers twisting, working harder, tongue flicking in long strokes over her clit, her taste flooding my mouth, swimming in my brain. And it's hot, this afternoon light bathing us, like the sun's been drawing closer all this time to watch. It could be the end of the world, and I wouldn't know it. She's all that's in this room, all I can see, can taste, can feel. She's everything. There's nothing beyond the slickness of her skin, sweat bonding us together, flesh feeling translucent and sticking, no sound apart from the wet sounds my fingers make, the dry, breathy cries of Cat swirling around me, rending through the thin paper of my skin, entwining around my bones, my heart.

I keep a hand steady on her hip, calming it's insistent striving, shivering, jerking. I keep her steady, keep her sane. I hold her together so I can tear her apart.

"J-Jade... I... I'm-" Cat whimpers, her voice torn, threadbare, and she doesn't need to finish her fractured sentence. I can feel what's coming, I can read the music of her body, the rising notes in her tensing muscles, about to come to a crashing finish. I keep my tongue on her, fingers working until I feel her back start to arch, until the sweat beading on her hip makes my hand slip with her movements. I pull back to watch her at the last, as she cries out, muscles clenching hard, hugging her bones tight. And everything is shaking, is blurring out of focus; Cat's losing her definition, she's everywhere and nowhere, and her face is there and flickering, and I don't know when I dragged myself back up her body. I'm kissing her, strawberries, strawberries, _strawberries_. It beats through my brain and my fingertips, and Cat's pink lips curve in a little smile as she whispers to me, hands stroking down my back. "_Strawberries_."

Everything's dark, and I wonder where the sun went, where that permanent afternoon went to. I'm soaked in sweat, blankets kicked off, eyes struggling to adjust. I'm confused, breath panting out of me, and I roll over, the harsh red neon of my clock burning into me. _3:41am._

I shut my eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath as realisation sinks in, my arms empty. I roll onto my back again, squeezing my legs together to ease the insistent throbbing between them. I'm so sick of these recurring dreams. And I can't tell anyone. Beck'd get a kick out of it, and try to kiss the 'problem' away, and Cat... I can't tell Cat. Every night, without fail, she's there in my dreams, writhing underneath me, bucking and gasping and whimpering my name.

I drag myself out of bed, wincing at the twinge I feel. I hate waking up like this, all... turned on. I can't even deal with it; it doesn't feel right to with Cat still in my head. I walk through the dark, cool-tiled halls of my house, mouth dry. The only light that spills through the windows is stark, tinged blue, like I'm underwater and the silence is swishing around me, deafening me with it's loudness.

I rub my eyes, trying to clear my bleary vision as I pad into the kitchen. Even though it was just a dream, my hands still feel dirty, there's still sweat cooling on my skin, dampening my pyjamas. I grab a glass from the cupboard, humming of the fridge cutting through the silence, bright light spilling out as I open the door, the cool air chilling me further. I grab the jug of water, pouring out a glass, eyes squinting as I study what's in the fridge, taking a sip of the icy water, liquid numbing my mouth.

I've got to stop having these dreams. They're unbearable. They're starting to infect my real life, starting to mix with it until I'm not sure what I've said to Cat in real life, or if it was just whispered in a dream. They've got to stop.

My mouth twists, fingers reaching into the fridge, circling around a bumpy shape, leaf feathering my hand. I stare at it for a moment, in the bright glare of the fridge, rolling it over in my fingers. I bite down on the strawberry, taste flooding my mouth, tart and sweet and so familiar, and, within a couple of bites, it's gone.

I take another sip of water, fridge shutting with a soft sound. I head back to my room, sitting heavily on my bed, glass sat on my bedside table. I sigh heavily before bringing my fingers to my mouth, licking the juice of the strawberry off, scouring every last trace from my fingertips, eyes shut. It's got to stop.

**A/N: So, this is pure smuttery right here. One hundred percent, Columbian refined smut. You won't get cleaner smut. And it's ecologically sustainable, too.**

**So review, and save the earth!**


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